


and boy if you confess, you might get blessed

by makapedia



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Birthday Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Lingerie, Modern AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia
Summary: Who knows what she has planned. All Hak knows is that, after treating him to dinner, she’d made a big deal of making sure that they were home alone before shoving him into her bedroom and demanding he stay put.
Relationships: Son Hak/Yona
Comments: 12
Kudos: 165





	and boy if you confess, you might get blessed

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

Hak sits up in bed and stares suspiciously at the door. “... Yona.”

“Promise! Don’t laugh!”

She must know what she’s asking of him. It’s effectively putting a muzzle on him — and on his birthday, no less. “Just get in here already. You’re being weird.”

“I’m not— you’re so mean, you know.”

Who knows what she has planned. All Hak knows is that, after treating him to dinner, she’d made a big deal of making sure that they were home alone before shoving him into her bedroom and demanding he stay put. 

“Should I be naked and waiting, your highness?” Her resulting shriek makes him grin, and Hak stretches out on her bed with purpose. 

“You just.” There’s shuffling behind the door, and then her footsteps — heels, by the sound of it, and he perks all the more, brows raised. “You’re supposed to like surprises, you know. You’re a Leo.”

Astrology is bullshit and she knows it. The fact that she just happens to be impulsive as hell and also an Aries is a coincidence. There are more important matters at hand anyway, like why Yona has heels on and is refusing to come into her own bedroom until he promises not to laugh at her. She has to know who she’s talking to, right? Who he is, and who she is, and the amount of hair-pulling he’d done in his childhood?

Hak cracks his neck and sighs. “I’ll fall asleep if you don’t hurry up.”

“Hak!”

“I see the light…”

“You’re not dying,” she huffs, then jingles the doorknob. “Just. Don’t laugh, okay?”

“Yona.”

“I mean it!”

If it means this much to her, he wouldn’t dream of it. Besides. Hak is twenty-five now, far beyond the years of teasing Yona for her hair or her looks — these days, he’d rather just pray at the altar of her hips, thank you, goodnight. 

“Fine,” he says, sitting again, hands in his lap. Every click of her heels makes something in his gut stir, peculiarly excited, and he presses a hand down over his tenting interest just for some sort of relief.

The door cracks open. Yona peeks around the corner, and she’s got the front of her hair pinned back, long red curls tumbling over her shoulders. Gloss on her lips, too. Makeup she hadn’t been wearing at dinner, that much is for sure — Hak doesn’t remember the eyeliner. 

“... Fine?”

He breathes out through his nose. Fine, he gets it. “I promise.”

Her smile is both shy and adorable. He doesn’t know how she manages to do it, to walk this perfect line between cute and honest, darling and brave. His heart just about stops when she finally steps in properly, long legs bare, hips barely adorned in some pretty, flowery lace. 

Hak sucks in a breath. “Oh.”

“Happy birthday,” she says, and she’s smiling nervously, but there’s something else there in her eyes, something resolute and challenging, and Hak might as well be naked.

She’s worn lingerie before. He’s seen her in silky ivory and lacy black, has seen her in nothing at all — he is not a stranger to her body, not anymore, but it doesn’t mean he’s not struck, right here, right now, with how lovely she is. This time it’s lilac she wears, with tiny rose-colored flowers embroidered along the filmsy material, and it does nothing to hide her. 

That’s fine by him. Hak swallows thickly and spends probably too long looking her over, but it’s his birthday, and he’s both touched that she’d spent time prettying herself up for this and also amused. Yona could just walk in bare-assed and demand he fuck her and he’d still be thrilled.

“Do you like it?” 

_ Like _ isn’t the word for it. He’d like her in anything, but. “Uh.”

She fiddles with the strap of her bra. It’s so delicate, all of it, and he can see everything — it’s sheer, and the pink of her nipples make it impossible for him to shut his damn mouth. “I didn’t know what to get you, and Jae-Ha said—“

“— Please don’t make me think about him right now—“

“—Said that you might like… this. Or something like this. Do you like it?”

Hak blinks stupidly. Right. He needs to get a hold of himself. “I don’t need anything.”

The clicking of her heels makes his blood rush south. He doesn’t know what that means about him, but at this point he’s not sure there’s enough blood left in his brain to properly think it through. 

“That’s not what I asked,” Yona says, approaching, and the sheer robe she has over her shoulders flutters behind her; there’s those flowers again, embroidered along the back, rising up like dawn, pinks and reds and deep violets. She’s a vision. 

She’s always a vision. Hak shakes his head and blinks rapidly. 

“Hak.” And she’s right there, standing between his legs. She cups his jaw in her hands and forces him to look her in the eye, and he can’t help but rests his hands on the jut of her hips. “Do you like it?”

“I like you in everything.”

She smiles, but. “Answer the question.”

He wishes it didn’t turn him on so much. He’s contrary by nature, and would follow her anywhere if only for the sake of complaining and watching the heat rise up to the tips of her ears, but this control she has over him is damning. He’s twice her size, stronger, older. Yona has nothing but the weight of her words and a pride that makes him want to tear his hair out, and it’s so freaking hot it makes him want to die. 

“... Yes,” he says finally. Yona’s thumb strokes along his jaw, clearly pleased with his cooperation. 

“Was that so hard?”

_ Something’s _ hard. Hak cups her hips in his hands as she pets him, as her hands slip to his neck, instead, and then her nails are lightly scritching in his hair. He could die like this, he thinks, leaning into her touch, trying to pretend like he isn’t thrilled to be in her hands. 

“... You’re not naked,” she says then.

Ah. “Thought it was my birthday,” he says, a little brattily, but it’s okay — Yona presses a scheming smile to his brow and something stirs in him. 

“Sit back then, birthday boy.” And her hands are on his shoulders now, pressing him back. 

Hak flops back against the mattress and looks up at her. Even from this angle, she’s a dream, long hair and slender neck and soft breasts, no matter the size — she’s so short she doesn’t really need to bend over to reach his belt, and that’s something he didn’t think he’d find so damn attractive. Yona would be Yona no matter the shape, no matter the form — but maybe it’s precisely because she’s  _ Yona _ that he bites his lip and can’t seem to stop watching her work. Yona happens to be short, and so short is the hottest thing in the world.

Her hands have his belt off in seconds. He thinks she’s probably trying to take her time and be sensual about it, but she’s impulsive and excitable to her core, and his girlfriend has never been particularly patient.

Then she holds his belt up like it’s some sort of trophy. Hak crooks a grin. “Proud of yourself?”

Yona snaps the straps of the belt together. The slap sounds throughout the room. Hak can’t pretend like his dick doesn’t perk at it, and then she’s grinning at him, smug and certainly proud.

Hak swallows. She watches him like a hawk and then tosses the belt over her shoulder. Her hands on the button of his skinny jeans, so close to where he really wants her, makes him feel sort of jittery, and it has nothing to do with the drink she’d bought him at dinner. 

“Raise your hips,” she asks — commands, whatever, whatever — and he obeys, and then she’s tugging his pants off of him and down his thighs, over his knees, and leaves them there around his ankles. It’s clear she has more important things to do, and regards his tenting boxers with the sort of coy delight he’s come to associate with her.

Hak looks to the ceiling instead of his boner. “Proud of yourself?”

She hums, like the little princess she is, and then the bed dips beneath their shared weight — she’s warm on his hips, and the heat of her is just north of where he really needs it. Yona says, “Maybe,” and then she’s leaning over him, pushing her hands up his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunching up over his abs. 

_ Maybe _ . One look is all it takes to confirm her pride. Her smile is equal parts devious and thrilled — she likes this, likes having this control over him, and Hak’s not stupid enough to properly deny her anything, not when it’s this good. 

Her hair is so long and drapes around her like a curtain. It’s like being caught in a blazing inferno. His grip on her hips tightens, and he tries to tug her back, just a hint so, just enough to feel the weight of her on his lap, but she resists, digging her nails into his shirt instead and practically purring, “Eager?”

“And feed your ego? Never.”

She pouts, but it’s all for show. Yona sits back and then begins collecting her hair, pulling it back into a high ponytail, and it’s impossible for him not to stare at the pale length of her neck. Her curls are wild, and flop behind her as she tosses her head around, shaking it into place, testing the feel. 

“Good things come to those who wait,” she promises. Her hands smooth over his bare torso, effectively feeling him up, and his hips jerk without his consent. “Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise,” he chuffs, brows furrowed. “Yona—“

She hops back and he tries to pretend like he doesn’t chase her heat. He groans at the loss of her, and then she’s slapping his hands lightly, and he releases her hips begrudgingly. 

“Take off your shirt.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Hak,” she says, and there’s no room for argument now. “Don’t be a brat. Take off your shirt.”

Yes ma’am. 

Hak sits up and tears it off of himself, and he can feel her eyes on him the whole time, taking him in. He’s known for a while that he’s built, or fit, or… whatever the girls in his hometown had always sighed about, but it never really meant anything to him. Not until Yona and her watchful, hungry eyes, and he tries not to preen beneath her gaze, but it’s his birthday, okay, and he’s allowed to be a little selfish.

Yona shrinks about two inches when she kicks her heels off. He’s about her height when he’s sitting and she’s standing, and wants to rub it in a bit, but then she’s shoving him back again, and when her fingers are tugging at the waistband of his shorts, there’s no time to be teasing her.

The room is colder than he thought. Hak blows raspberry and stares at the ceiling again. “Harsh.”

“I’m sorry,” Yona says, saccharine sweet. “Do you want me to be gentle?”

“I am a fair damsel. I would like to be held, sir knight.”

Her laugh makes butterflies flutter in his chest. He’s so pathetic. 

And hard. Yona clambers her way back onto him and sits just beneath where he wants her this time, hands rubbing gingerly, maddeningly along his hips. It’s hardly fair, he thinks, that she has him naked now and she’s still dressed up like a pretty little present — he’d like to have the straps of those flimsy panties between his teeth — but Yona’s thumb circles his hipbone and reduces him to mush in about three seconds flat.

“I love you,” she says, so frankly it makes his eyes sting. Stupid. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything better.”

As if she’s not the greatest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of calling his. Hak huffs and budges his hips. “Your majesty,” he starts, and looks at her just in time to catch her tiny smile, “I’m not sure this is a gift I deserve.”

“You get this, like, every night.”

And it’s good every night. Hak fits her with a look and then Yona presses her lips together, trailing her fingers further south. 

“... Scoot back,” she says.

“You’re on me.”

Yona sits on her knees, legs spread, and he allows himself a single moment to admire the view — Yona, shrugging off the top layer of her lingerie, watching it drop behind her, fluttering — before he follows orders and scoots back, far enough that his legs are no longer hanging off of the end of the bed.

She pats his thigh supportively, clearly ignoring his cock, which is currently pointed heavensward and rigid. “You’re too tall.”

“You’re too short,” he huffs.

“But you like it,” she sing-songs, and he has to wonder how she manages to switch so mercilessly between blushing and shy to confident princess. 

She’s such a brat. He loves her. “You like it,” he challenges back.

Yona smiles, caught. She sits on his knees this time and plants both hands on his thighs. “I’m not alone in that,” she says, and there’s a possessive bite to it, as she slides her hands, warm and wanting, up his legs. 

“Yona,” he groans.

“Lots of girls like big guys,” she says, innocently, far too innocently. Her majesty knows exactly what she’s playing at, and flattery will apparently get her everywhere in life — Yona, who, at thirteen would have rather swallowed a bug than compliment him. Yona, at twenty-three, commanding him with nothing more than the blaze of her eyes and her blushing cheeks. 

He wants to hold her. His fists clench and he reaches out. “Yona—“

“I think,” she starts, and her hands are so close to his dick now that he actually  _ pants,  _ “you should hold on to the headboard.”

“What.”

She slides a single finger up the length of him and his mouth hangs open, teetering maddeningly between overstimulated and starved. “There are rungs.” 

There are, but the headboard is the farthest thing from his mind right now.  _ Touch me,  _ he thinks, wishes, begs. 

“Hak?”

“Hhhh,” he exhales, twitching all over. “Yes.”

“The rungs.” She uses two fingers now, and Hak watches, transfixed, as she circles them over the tip of him. “Your hands.”

“... Whhuh.”

“I don’t have anything to tie you down with,” she says, far too merrily. “But my thunder beast is strong, right? You can hold yourself back.”

She’s kidding him. A challenge, of all things. Hak’s bones feel heavy and tingly with lust, as he flops back, creaking into place as his fingers link hazily around aforementioned rungs of the headboard. 

“... Thought this was my present,” he mutters.

“It  _ is. _ ” Yona slicks her fingers with him and then gives him one good stroke, and Hak feels his toes curl. “You like it when I boss you around. Right?”

What an accusation. He resents that. 

He doesn't get the chance to defend his honor. Yona takes that hand off of him and slips it down the front of her panties and just like that, the fight leaves him, all at once. He obsesses over it — the look on her face, the proud jut of her chin dipping, just barely, as she sinks those fingers into herself, instead. 

His heels dig into her bed, but she’s sitting on his knees, and he’s effectively pinned there beneath the heat of her eyes. His fingers tighten around the wooden rods of the headboard.

“Right?” Yona asks, but there’s a hitch to her voice now.

Oh, how he aches. Hak grits his teeth and says nothing, only watches as she touches herself. What he wouldn’t give to be there between her legs with his own hands, or his face, or even his dick — he throbs and pants though his teeth as he watches her, but her thunder beast is strong, and it is that pride, the pride she’s knighted him with personally, that keeps his hands at bay. 

“Thought it was  _ my _ birthday,” he manages finally.

Yona  _ sighs  _ and he feels it shoot down his spine. “Sorry.” Then she’s crawling up his body like she owns it and seats herself just shy of where he wants her — she’s so wet, and he can feel it on his waist, infuriatingly so — and then sets those fingers on his lower lip. “Is this what you want?”

He doesn’t know where she gets this shit from. What has she been reading, he wonders, but obediently opens his mouth anyway, and familiarizes himself with her taste without complaint. 

The way she watches him makes him antsy. She follows his tongue with rapt attention, and though he’s barely been touched, Hak feels about ready to shoot into the stratosphere and die. He’s so keyed up it isn’t funny, and Yona plucks her fingers from his mouth and holds his jaw, wet and sure, as she leans down to kiss him.

It’s messy. He can’t hold her the way he wants, can’t tilt her neck to get a good angle, and so he’s left at her mercy. She manhandles him how she likes, humming with approval, surely tasting herself on his tongue. He’s at her mercy, properly, completely.

“Yona,” he pants.

“Mmm.” She smiles against his lips. Sits back and regards him, and Hak burns, burns, laying there like a specimen, naked and sweating all over. “Good?”

“Yona.”

“That’s my name,” she says, smiling. 

He stares at her. She stares back, still smiling. 

“You can ask for what you want, you know,” she says, and then she’s trailing her hands down his chest. The attention would be welcomed — and appreciated — if he wasn’t hard enough to drill his way through concrete. “It’s your birthday. I want to treat you.”

He ought to slug Jae-Ha for putting her up to this. And also buy him a fruit basket or something. Christ. His limbs feel fuzzy with arousal, and at the crest of it all is Yona, sitting atop him like he’s a throne or something, looking pleased, so pleased, like something regal and mighty. 

It’s so hot. He can’t stand it. Hak snarls and throws his head back, biting his lip. 

“Just ask,” she cooes, and scoots her hips back, just enough to cradle his dick against the curve of her ass. 

His shoulder blades press back into the mattress. He’s laying in a canopy bed completely at her mercy, while she wears pretty purple lingerie and commands him with nothing more than her word. He’s beyond boned.

“... Yona,” he groans.

The look in her eye is positively smoldering. “Princess?”

Her childhood nickname sudden holds such a different purpose. Well. He’s always said she was prissy like one, and demanding to boot — but it seems that, no matter how much time goes by, he will always be her simple servant. Her word is law.

“Princess.” Yona’s hips raise and he watches, transfixed, as she tugs aside her panties. “ _ Princess _ .”

Her knees wobble as she mounts him. The tip of him kisses her and he practically melts all at once, limbs trembling, mouth caught open in a helpless groan. He wants to take her hips in his hands and tug her down, bury himself in her heat and find peace, or something, anything — this slowness will surely kill him. It’s too much.

Yona has her lower lip sucked up beneath her teeth. She guides him with damp fingers to brush over her clit and then her thighs are the ones trembling, and her own facade of calm cracks, piece by piece. It should make him smug, that she’s just as worked up as he is, but watching her pleasure herself on his dick does nothing but make him want her to use him more. It seems all he really wants is to be Yona’s tool. 

“Is this,” she starts, but her voice breaks as she shifts her hips, and grinds herself against him instead. “Is this… what you want?”

It’s like he can’t even think. “Yes.”

“Do you want more?”

“Yes.  _ Yes _ .” He must be white-knuckling the bars of her headboard at this point. It’s a miracle he hasn’t cracked the wood. Christ, he doubts he’ll last very long at all—

Her heat is blinding, and she sinks down on him slowly, just the tip. He watches her with obsessive attention, watches himself disappear inside of Yona. She’s so wet it melts him to his core, and the noise that escapes him should be embarrassing, except there’s not enough blood left in his body to blush.

She can still blush though, and she does so beautifully. It blurs her light freckles, and she glows rosy pink, all the way down her chest — and he watches her breathe, the heave of it and the pink of her nipples, peeking through the lavender lace, and fuck, fuck. 

“Does it feel good?”

“Fuck,” he hisses.

“Does my thunder beast want more?”

He doesn’t know how she manages it. She’d been too embarrassed to present herself in front of him in lingerie, and now she’s acting like she owns him. Hak’s breath comes out quick and short, and his hips move of their own volition, raising to meet her greedily. 

Her hands plant on his hip bones and press him down. He’s stronger than her but helpless to her whims, and the whole bed seems to shudder beneath the weight of his want.

“Yes,” he says, when he realizes she’s waiting for a response. “Yes, please—“

Every inch is blessed. She takes all of him, finally, finally, and then sits there for a moment, eyes full of love, watching as he writhes beneath her. It’s horrifying. It’s everything. Yona pets down the trail of hair that leads to his cock and Hak just about dies.

She laughs, then, a little nervous, a bit girlish. He wants to crush her to him and kiss her pink cheeks and come until he can’t think anymore. Christ. Who is he? Where has Hak, he of self-restraint and the years-long, secret crush gone? 

“... You’ll be good, right?” Her voice hitches, and when his hips bump up to meet her, as deeply as he can, she moans this time. It’s music to his ears. “You’ll… be good?”

Hak doesn’t know what she’s talking about. As far as he’s concerned, everything is good right now. Perfect. Awesome. The only thing that could be better is if Yona would move and get herself off. Yeah.

“Hhhhh,” he grunts, very intelligently. 

Her face burns pink, but she still manages to gather her courage, and says, “You’ll let me ride you?”

“God, Yona.”

“And you won’t laugh?”

Why in the fucking world would he laugh. Yona bounces once, twice on him and Hak forgets how to be a person; he is nothing more than flesh and bones, and a stupid, throbbing heart, beating rapidly in his empty chest. 

Her ponytail bounces behind her. The curls that’ve escaped frame her face and flop around her cheeks, her jaw — that stupid, infuriatingly proud jaw of hers, he thinks, shoulders flat against the bed, straining to meet her halfway. She’s so pretty it makes him angry. The prettiest thing he’s ever seen, in cool purple, in the milky white of her skin, with scarce, delicate freckles dotting her stomach. 

Yona pins him down with one hand, so firm on his abs, while the other slicks itself along her clit. He gets to watch her touch herself, and it’s a treat he’s oft not privy to — a treat he never thought he’d be privy to — and it shouldn’t be that, of all things, that makes him lose himself. It should be her command, or the pretty way she blushes, or her glossy lips, forming the shapes of his name as she moans openly. 

It seems to be what she’s waiting for. Yona watches him so blatantly and takes him in, all of him, and her nails dig almost possessively into him. “Is it good?” she pants.

God, he can barely think, never mind speak. What more does she want from him?

“Hak,” she whines. 

“Want you,” he says, through his teeth. God, it would be so easy to let go and spill inside of her, to lose himself, but, but — her first, he thinks, fluffing his pride. Her first, always.

Yona laughs with her whole body and he groans. “You have me!”

“Please hurry up and finish.”

“It’s your birthday!” Yona puffs, but works herself that bit harder on him, and god — she flutters like the sweetest vice. 

“It’s my birthday,” he says, gripping the rungs of her bed tighter, tighter still. “So— what I want—“

“—That’s hardly a present!” 

“What I  _ want. _ ” He can’t finish. He just stares helplessly at her, arms sore, muscles tense, toes curled. It takes everything in him not to rush over that finish line, and it’s only sheer determination that keeps him from losing this race. 

And, well. Yona should know better. He lives to serve. 

She’s so pretty when she comes. He knows her tells, knows them well — he’s spent plenty of evenings planted happily between her thighs, be it with his mouth or his tongue, and knows even just by the look on her face when she finds what she’s looking for. It always surprises her, and then she sort of… curls in on herself, shivering all over, gasping, and Yona has never been much of a songstress, but he thinks he likes her voice when she croons his name, like he’s the only pillar that’s ever mattered. 

He takes pride in it. He takes pleasure, too. Mostly, though, he takes it as relief — it’s her, gasping and shaking on him that finally allows him peace, and he lasts about half a second more before he meets her there.

It’s a fuzzy feeling afterward. His limbs feel heavy still, and his heart still races in his chest, but Yona slips off of him and he can’t help but watch the panting of her chest instead. Can’t help but think that she’s prettier in the aftermath, still dolled up in her lace, lips glossy, knees shaking. 

Presently, Hak feels like he’s run a race. He just can’t catch his breath.

“... You… “ In, out. For god’s sake. “... Yeah.”

Her smile is as embarrassed as it is pleased. “Happy birthday?”

“... Ow,” he grunts, loosening his grip, lowering his arms. 

“Oh,” she says, then stumbles next to him and tries to kiss his muscles better. It’s very sweet, but it turns into her just sort of… pressing her face against his biceps, and Hak rolls his eyes knowingly.

“... Yona.”

“Mmm.”

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

The heat of her blush should very well leave a mark on him. She bites his arm playfully and then sits next to him on the bed, exhaling. Hak says fuck it and doesn’t try to hide the face that he’s staring at her tits.

She is Yona and she is deceptively perceptive, so she crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

“Ha.” He’s too tired to laugh. Just sort of wants to press his face into her chest and sleep for ten years. Or a few hours, and then give as good as he got. “Where’d you get it?”

“Huh?”

“The lace.”

“Oh!’ She smiles, and it reaches her sleepy eyes. “I ordered it. I was really worried it wouldn’t look good on me, or that it wouldn’t make it in time, but—“

Everything looks good on her. Hak chuffs out a breath and then links an arm around her waist, tugging her closer. “Stupid,” he says, pressing his face to her thigh, and Yona cards her fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“But I wanted to! It’s your birthday.”

“And you’re stupid, if you think you’d look bad in anything.”

He doesn’t have to look to know the look on her face — lip bitten, cheeks pink. Secretly so pleased. “... You manage to be so sweet and also such a butthead at the same time.”

“I’ll be here all night, ma’am.”

“Hardly. You always fall asleep after sex.”

He falls asleep after everything, thank you very much. Hak presses a kiss to her thigh and says, very pleased, “My princess spoils me.”

She squeaks a little. Tightens her fingers in his hair, surely not on purpose, but Hak likes it all the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAK


End file.
